


If you died I'd hope you'd haunt me, 'cause you know I'd miss you bad

by oH_cRaMiTY_iTs_aMiTY



Category: Booksmart (2019)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hope is a music nerd, Questionable Intentions, Swearing, amy is still into ryan, angry hope, annabelle is my hero, basically a true story, can nick fit in that trashcan?, green pens and notebook lists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25134004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oH_cRaMiTY_iTs_aMiTY/pseuds/oH_cRaMiTY_iTs_aMiTY
Summary: based on a true-ish story on my end about me and this other person.this is broken up in 2 parts, one of which is the alt scene to the infamous party from the movie from hope's entire perspective....After pinning over Amy for years, Annabelle convinces Hope to finally confront Amy regarding her own feelings.Except there is always one problem.Okay, maybe a few problems.One of which is Ryan, and the other is Hope herself.Hope can't hold a nice conversation to save her life, nonetheless one with Amy Antsler.So how is Hope going to tell her? Because Hope is still frustrated with her feelings.Well... Maybe Annabelle's ideas aren't so awful after all, this just might work.
Relationships: Amy/Hope (Booksmart)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36
Collections: Mentally_Unstable_Gays





	If you died I'd hope you'd haunt me, 'cause you know I'd miss you bad

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I really just needed to write this.
> 
> This probably breaks so many characters, but I really just… idk… this happened to me… and like… I feel like this could be decent, but it probably seems terrible.
> 
> “I’m officially disappearing from this conversation. Bye.”
> 
> ^ if this isn’t me.
> 
> This is basically based off true events in my life, I had pitched this to myself one night after 1am while lying in bed, and we really liked it so here.
> 
> It took me a long ass time to actually finish it, and there are so many changes that I made to the story from real events, I’m not saying this would actually happen in the movie, but perhaps it could? 
> 
> Basically pre-movie, and Hope both likes Amy and is also in a state of denial about it…. Sort of turned into a thing as well…. You’ll see.
> 
> The mixtape list of Hope’s songs to Amy will be at the end, I dare you to listen to all of them.
> 
> Thanks to my friend for bitching at me to finish this and continue to like… usher me on to fucking write this trash…. Love you dude, your awesome. (I swear that doesn’t mean anything weird. Your just super cool... no homo.)
> 
> Well… there is homo… in this fic bro… also… it ends shitty and yeah… that’s because of the party and stuff lmao.
> 
> [To her, I still wish you were my girlfriend… I think I’d be perfect for you, even if I’m older by a bit… I hope you listened to those songs and thought of me… Not that you’ll even know who I am, or read this… but like… if you were into Booksmart… I would ultimately marry you right now… holy shit….(jk… we need time lmao, and you don’t even know I exist probably.) Really… yeah… I hope you’re (a little bit) gay or else that would be weird to be crushing on you this hard… haha… kill me.]
> 
> I’m Hope in this scenario if you all are wondering… and no I don’t play guitar…. This whole thing is based on “No Idea” by All Time Low…. It’s like… yeah.
> 
> Title inspired by Waterparks’ song titled “I’ll Always Be Around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this sucks

> _"Oh, oh now there's so much of me  
>  Telling me not to leave  
> Every time I see your face" _
> 
> _("No Idea" All Time Low)  
> _

* * *

**** **_H_ ** _._

_“I don’t understand why you don’t go over there and just talk to her already.”_

Hope’s eyes snap back to Annabelle with her small salad, fork gesturing to the farthest table where the two unfavorable geeks sat alone, talking amongst themselves, something political or about female empowerment, Hope guesses.

“Talk to who?” Hope snaps back to Annabelle’s face, raising a brow in confusion.

“Amy,” she says, “You’re always looking over there. It’s like you’re just trying to make it more obvious.”

“Make what obvious?” Hope deadpans, trying to play it off, “ _Please_. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Then why do you keep looking over there?” Annabelle frowns, “By the likes of it, it seems like you like the wife’s wife.”

“Jesus,” Hope huffs, “No Trip, I don’t like her.”

“Dude,” she scoffs, pointing her plastic fork at Hope’s face, to her dismay, “Your such a bad liar.”

“I’m not fucking lying,” Hope replies flatly, looking back to Amy’s table for a second.

Annabelle shakes her head, “Go over there and talk to her.”

“What for?” Hope looks back at Annabelle, almost like a deer in headlights, “I’m not just going to do that.”

“You’re not getting out of this.”

“I can try,” Hope mumbles, “I can talk to her on my own terms anyway.”

“You told her Friday that Miss Fine was stupid for counting you late, then burped and left to go smoke in your car ten minutes later.”

“Your point?” Hope frowns.

“She’s not going to like you if you don’t give her a reason to.”

“Look,” Hope slams a hand on the table abruptly, “I really don’t need your help with this.”

“Uh,” Annabelle laughs softly, “Yeah you kind of do.”

“Why?” Hope asks, looking up to find Tanner and Ryan skating past Molly and Amy’s table before doing some skateboard move and earning woops and high-fives.

“Because of that,” Annabelle motions to the group congratulating Ryan as she skids to a halt.

“I can do that,” Hope scoffs, “You just move your foot a certain way and try not to break your neck in the process.”

“Hope,” Annabelle frowns, “You can’t skateboard, don’t even start this again.”

“Right, right,” Hope ponders with a huff.

“It’s not your fault she likes Ryan anyway.”

“Well,” Hope hums enthusiastically, “It kind of is.”

“Just go over there,” Annabelle presses.

“ _No_ ,” Hope shakes her head, “ _Not_ happening.”

“Fine,” Annabelle narrows her eyes, “Then _I_ will.”

Annabelle makes a move to try to stand up from the table, before Hope is practically mentally shitting herself, and pulling her down by the wrist, “Dude no! Sit down!”

“Then go over there,” Annabelle confides.

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” Hope shoots, “Just stop hassling me about this, it’s not a big deal.”

Molly gets up from their table, Amy following suit, caring their trash to a barrel that Nick Howland has apparently started an argument near with Theo.

_Probably about whether he could fit into it._

“It’s like there a pack of hyenas.”

“I’m not even going to correct you,” Hope chastises, “I’m officially disappearing from this conversation. _Bye_.”

Hope slides her phone from her pocket and puts an earbud in both ears, only to have Annabelle be muted entirely by the loud riffs of electric guitars and synths.

Annabelle leaves after a few minutes, throwing away the plastic casing of her salad, before returning back to the table and ripping out one of Hope’s earbuds.

“I didn’t give you permission to just ignore me.”

“Well, I gave myself,” Hope shrugs, “I’m listening to music, leave me alone.”

“Dude!” Annabelle pipes up after a moment, “I’ve got the best idea.”

Hope raises a brow before glancing over at Amy’s table, then checking her phone.

_Lunch was over in five, then AP Biology. **Great**._

“Remember how much I am _so_ against your plans,” Hope says.

“Name one instance when I had a bad one,” Annabelle comments.

“That charity race back in middle school.”

“It was for _charity,_ Hope,” Annabelle frowns, “My Uncle was hosting it.”

“Tall people cannot run. End of discussion,” Hope finishes, gesturing to Amy’s table, “That isn’t an exception.”

“Just hear me out, okay?” Annabelle says, “You’re so bad saying the right things without being sarcastic and insulting.”

“Okay,” Hope holds up a hand, “Ouch.”

“It’s true, don’t deny it,” Annabelle states, shaking her head, “Anyways, why don’t you write her a note or something?”

“That’s so fucking lame,” Hope says, “We aren’t twelve.”

“You sure act like it half the time.”

“Because I’m usually high when I’m dealing with your bullshit,” Hope replies flatly, “Remind me again why I hang out with you?”

“You’re always listening to music,” Annabelle dismisses, “Or writing cheap ass angsty songs on your guitar.”

“They aren’t angsty, their poetic and soulful.”

“Yeah, and all of them aren’t about how much you want Amy to notice your existence,” Annabelle deadpans, causing Hope to look away quickly, “ _See_? I know you.”

“Yeah. Well, I know where _you_ sleep,” Hope says after a moment, holding her hand up and pinching her thumb and index finger together, “And, your _this_ close to not getting a ride home.” _  
  
_“Just think about it,” Annabelle says, “No planning the discussions beforehand, you don’t even need to put your name on it.”

The bell sounds, and immediately Amy and Molly exchange a hug before slinking into the forming crowd leading into the courtyard entrance of the school building,

_“I’ll think about it.”_

* * *

The rest of the day goes by uneventful, most of the time Hope’s trying not to think about Amy.

Even during the classes that she sits at the front in, or her French class, the only class Amy sits in front of Hope in, with Annabelle sitting a few rows over next to Ryan and Nick.

“Hey,” Amy turns around at one point, and it almost alarms Hope with how it seems to startle her.

Because it’s unexpected. Amy never usually talks to her, apart from the casual ‘ _hello’s’_ or the _‘can you give me some help, I’m not quite understanding this.’_

_Okay, maybe Hope purposefully asked for help every now and then, who said that wasn’t weird?_

“What?” She snaps, almost like a reflex.

“Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She moves to turn around before Hope is realizing it, “No, wait.”

“Yeah?” she stops, looking back at Hope for a moment.

Hope clears her throat, “What did you actually need?”

“Oh,” Amy smiles, “I just wanted to make sure you could see the screen alright; I think Miss Smith mentioned something about taking notes today.”

“Oh,” Hope relaxes, lips forming a repressed smile, “Yeah, don’t worry about it, I’d let you know if I couldn’t anyway.”

“Right,” she says, somehow embarrassed upon her own misjudgment, Amy must’ve forgot the fact that Hope was indeed taller than her, “Guess I should’ve thought about that, you are taller than me.”

And Hope swears, there’s a small blush that makes its way onto Amy’s face as she turns back around,

She smiles at that thought, and it’s the only one that she holds onto until the end of World History, while she’s sneaking glances at her phone as the teacher writes on the dry erase board every now and again.

* * *

_  
_The thought keeps Hope awake.

She’s sitting cross legged on her bed, with her electric guitar in her lap.

It’s after one according to the time on her phone, but all she keeps doing is listening to the same song over and over, positioning her fingers over the frets and strumming softly to herself.

****

**_And I just wanna breathe until,  
I take you in  
I never want you to leave until  
I take you in  
  
(But the truth is)_ **

**_  
She has no idea  
(No idea)  
That I'm even here  
(That I'm even here)  
  
_ **

Hope hums softly at the bridge and instantly feels her fingers come to a slow stop as the chorus hits again. Annabelle’s earlier words pop into her head and instantly she removes the strap from around her neck and sets the guitar back in its open case on the floor.

She rummages through a desk drawer, before coming across a notebook designated for lyrics, flipping it open to a clean page, she writes down the song title.

**_No Idea – All Time Low_ **

_‘Okay. What does this mean?’_

Hope narrows her eyes at the messy scrawled out words before biting her lip, and searching through her phone for a moment.

_‘Wait a minute, I’ve got it.’_

She puts _“1.”_ in front of the title, before moving onto the next margin. She drops the pen on the desk and paces a few times before she pinches the bridge of her nose.

A song starts playing from the speaker from her phone that makes her jump and scramble back over to the desk, she decides that it’s _“2.”_

By the end of it, there’s a number in each margin, with a song title and artist, marked in green pen that makes Hope smile triumphantly for a good minute, proud of her work.

She flips the sheet over, and rips it from the spiraled notebook, leaving her with the blank backside.

Hope feels as if she should do something for this, like there was something missing, she shouldn’t just give a list of songs to Amy unknowingly.

_What made these so special to her anyway?_

**The lyrics.**

They reminded her of Amy in some way.

A thought springs into her mind that causes her to click the pen and renumber the margins again, before swiping her phone from the side of her desk.

She does a Google search, and finds a lyric that she loves from each song.

And by the end, it looks like she’s created her own song.

Only with discombobulated stolen lyrics that have no structure whatsoever apart from the number in front of the quotes.

She rewrites the paper again, holding her hand steady, a single mistake and she crumples the sheet up and starts over.

She cannot afford for Amy to not be able to read this at all.

Her hand starts to cramp and sweat by number five, and it’s to the point where she’s concerned on saturating the paper.

She finds a glove in her closet, and decides that it’ll due.

Only it makes it worse because her penmanship is terrible with it on.

She eventually figures out that if she lays it under her hand, and taking individual breaks to wipe a hand on her thigh and to crack her knuckle, it works better.

And there it sits, her beautiful work, all 33 songs, in green pen.

She flips the sheet over and clicks the pen a few times before mentally coaxing herself to swipe the ink over the paper and write her name in the top right corner.

_‘Amy.’_

She doesn’t sign her own name. She doesn’t dare, the last thing she needs is anyone else knowing she’s doing this.

No one needs to know about the power struggle she’s been having during this whole process, finding herself marveling at how pretty it looks,

_It looks like something Amy would write._

**_If_ she was a music nerd, depressed, and smoked pot. **

_**Way too much pot.** _

She tears the irritating perforated edge, (that’s basically the bane of everyone who has OCD’s existence.) and folds the sheet so that when unfolded it shows eight small rectangles.

Hope makes sure Amy’s name hangs out, and slides it in the back pocket of her jeans that she was supposed to wear the next morning before sighing and turning off the light.

_Hope wasn’t going to get much sleep that night after all._

* * *

“Did you do it?” Annabelle asks, sliding into the passenger seat of Hope’s rusted Honda Civic. The time on the dash reads a twenty after seven, they had to be at school by eight at the latest.

_Annabelle always insists on her morning latte._

“No,” she lies, and it makes Annabelle search her face in the rear view mirror before scoffing loudly.

“ _Liar_.”

“Okay,” Hope holds up a finger, narrowing her eyes, “First of all, _don’t_ call me a liar.”

“I just did,” Annabelle laughs softly, “Deal with it.”

“I can pull over right here,” Hope confides, shifting her right foot over to the brake pedal, “I can totally just make you walk all the way to Starbucks bitch.”

“Fuck no,” Annabelle groans, “you wouldn’t.”

“Don’t fucking test me,” Hope raises a brow, turning back to the road and clearing her throat.

“But did you actually write it?” Annabelle asks, and Hope makes a nasally groan from the driver’s seat, completely annoyed in Annabelle’s persistence.

“Yes,” Hope chastises, “Now stop it.”

“Give it here,” Annabelle pipes up, waving her hand in Hope’s face, “I’ve got to see this shit.”

“Dude,” Hope jumps in, swatting the outstretched hand away quickly, “It isn’t for you.”

“But I’m your best friend,” Annabelle jokes lightly.

“That’s debatable.”

* * *

Hope finds her gaze on the side of Amy’s face as they sit in Miss Fine’s class.

Evidently, they were discussing something regarding Shakespeare and how he helped to shape modern love stories. She doesn’t find herself interested in the subject however, she finds her mind drifting back to her back jean pocket.

_It feels nerve wracking._

Like at any moment, someone could easily figure out that she was behind something that hadn’t even transpired yet.

Maybe that sort of made this even more tempting.

Granted, Hope hadn’t had a clue in terms of why she always felt this certain draw to Amy’s demeanor since they were kids. But it wasn’t until a few years ago that she finally just decided to try to embrace it for a change.

_What was the worst thing to ever happen anyway?_

Hope feels eyes on the back of her head as she snaps back to the classroom, everyone around them is shuffling around their bags for some textbook regarding Shakespeare’s modernized works.

Hope would scoff if anyone told her that Shakespeare was in any way romantic.

Who the hell thinks two people dying in ignorance is utterly charming in its own right?

If anyone wants to talk about anything remotely forbidden, it could be certain that it was her and her own feelings towards Amy Antsler. B-

_“Hope.”_

Hope cranes her neck around her desk, to glance back at Annabelle, who is indeed trying to catch her attention.

She gives a large grin and connects the tip of her thumb and index fingers together to make a circle underneath her desk with her right hand, moving her left to make an indiscreet pornographic innuendo, gesturing her chin to Amy who Hope immediately frowns at and looks back down at her open book.

_She knows her face is red._

**Annabelle is such a prude.**

* * *

“So I did him,” Annabelle states, Tanner and Theo sit around the small bend of the outdoor yellow picnic table.

“You did not!” Tanner yells in shock, “Oh my God.”

“You seriously fucked that guy?” Theo laughs.

Annabelle’s arm nudges against Hope’s bicep, earning her gaze to snap back to their conversation.

“Hope?” Annabelle raises a brow, “You okay dude?”

“Y-Yeah,” Hope nervously laughs, “What’s going on?”

“Dude,” Theo states, “Trip seriously fucked that guy.”

“Which guy?” Hope raises a brow, “She fucks a lot of guys.”

“Do not!” Annabelle laughs abruptly, “Jesus. Don’t make me look like some sort of slut.”

“ _Right_ ,” Hope murmurs.

“I’m serious,” Annabelle states, “There’s nothing wrong with that shit.”

“Totally,” Theo nods, “See, the way I see it, I think it’s all about perception and whether or not your willing to just put yourself out there in that aspect. And I find that somewhat attractive in a woman if you ask me.”

“Well,” Tanner shakes his head, “Don’t go getting any ideas, she might sleep with you too.”

_“We’d all hate to get whatever STD she’s got.”_

All eyes land on Hope, and she looks up to find Annabelle’s pursed lips, seemingly watching as Hope looks between the three of them.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes before Tanner clears his throat and looks over to catch Ryan coming out of the exit into the outdoor cafeteria.

“We better hit it,” Tanner states, “Nice talking to you Trip.”

“Yeah,” Theo nods, “And if you ever need anything,” Theo brings a hand up to the side of his head, and winks, imitating a phone with his fingers, “You know how to reach me.”

“What a pervert,” Annabelle looks back to Hope, who has seemingly gone back to glancing back in Amy’s direction.

“Yeah,” Hope murmurs, clearly uninterested in Annabelle’s comment regarding Theo. Her mind wanders back to Amy for a minute, mind going back to her back pocket, the creased sheet of paper quickly makes her swallow.

However, it takes a moment before Hope realizes that Annabelle’s seamlessly waving an unapologetic hand in front of her face, the action makes Hope quickly snap back to her curious eyes, swatting the obnoxious hand away with a frown.

“Dude,” Annabelle comments, “What’s with you?”

“Nothing,” Hope states, “Quit being so intrusive, you aren’t my mother.”

Annabelle sighs, stabbing her fork back into the salad container before shaking her head with an amused laugh.

“Yeah,” she recites, raising an amused brow, “It’s not like I’m helping you combat your massive crush on the nerd.”

Hope’s expression turns frantic, panic setting into her nerves, and she looks around quickly before scowling back at Annabelle, “You need to seriously just shut up.”

“Why?” Annabelle smirks.

“Because,” Hope confides, “What if someone were to hear you?”

Annabelle lets out an amused chuckle before shaking her head, “You make it so obvious.”

“Do not!” Hope chastises.

“Please,” Annabelle shakes her head, “Are we even going to do this, or not?”

“Do what?”

“The thing,” Annabelle states, stabbing her fork into a cherry tomato before glancing back at Hope, who wears a blank expression. “The note,” she clarifies.

“No,” Hope shakes her head quickly, “ _No_.”

“ _Hope_ ,” Annabelle frowns, “Come on.”

“I don’t really think this is the right time,” Hope comments, “I mean, what if she doesn’t like me? Or if she hates all of the songs?”

“ _Songs_?” Annabelle raises a brow, “You gave her _songs_?”

Hope takes a deep break, slipping the note from her pocket before unfolding it to Annabelle’s eyes, “It’s a list.”

“Dude,” Annabelle frowns, “What the hell?”

“Look,” Hope says, folding the paper back up, “I ran out of ideas.”

“You could’ve wrote her a song, or a poem,” Annabelle states, shaking her head, “But _no_. Your ass just gave her a list of songs.”

“Look at the back asshole.”

“What?” Annabelle raises a brow, taking the sheet into her hands, and unfolding the paper again to look at it.

“The lyrics are what I like most about these songs,” Hope confides, “They all remind me of Amy in some way.”

“Okay,” Annabelle nods, turning the sheet over, “Give me your pen.”

“What?” Hope raises a brow, “No way dude.”

“You didn’t put anything else but the songs and her name Hope,” Annabelle states, “You need to put something else here, so it doesn’t look stupid.”

“It looks fine,” Hope says, “It has her name.”

“But _Hope_ ,” Annabelle shakes her head, and it makes Hope scowl.

“ _No_ ,” Hope surmises, folding her arms over her chest, “Just go take it to her before I change my mind.”

“Alright fine,” Annabelle says, “But you _owe_ me.”

“I’ll buy you Starbucks later,” Hope rolls her eyes in amusement.

“Good enough,” Annabelle nods, getting up from the table to casually stroll over to Amy and Molly’s.

Hope immediately looks away, collects her things and quickly abandoning her untouched lunch, she finds herself rushing back inside of the school, hands clutching at the strap of her messenger bag as she rushes into the farthest bathroom stall and sits onto the toilet.

Head in her hands, she squeezes her eyes closed, calming her sudden nerve flare up by attempting to convince herself that this was fine.

_Amy was going to like it._

**It was going to be fine.**

_But what if she doesn’t?_

_God, she didn’t even fucking put her name on it._

_How was Amy supposed to know it was from her?_

_She was so stupid for believing in following Annabelle’s plan._

* * *

What concerns Hope, is the fact that Amy is currently a few feet away, seemingly struggling to find something inside of her bag in the middle of their French class.

“Goddamnit,” she hears Amy murmur to herself, and it almost makes her smile in amusement.

She glances over the spine her book to find Ryan’s frame casually wandering up and leaning against a nearby desk, and it practically angers Hope with how Amy practically melts within her gaze.

_Hope wishes she’d look at her like that._

“Is something’ wrong dude?”

 _‘Yeah,’_ Hope thinks _, ‘You’re here hitting on my girl.’_

Hope blanks out the rest of the conversation, only pausing when she hears the teacher come into the room, placing her bookmark in the middle of the seam, and closing her ragged copy of _Me Before You_ to look up to find Amy’s frazzled seated frame.

“Okay class,” the teacher clasps her hands together, leaning herself against the metal desk at the front of the classroom.

A few tardy kids come trickling past the doorframe a few minutes later, but they’re ignored, and Hope doesn’t notice anything else apart from the teacher giving some instruction about their previous homework assignment.

“ _Hey_.”

Hope wouldn’t have caught it if she didn’t already feel slightly on edge. She’s somewhat jumpy, and she tells herself that Amy must know somethings up.

But she recognizes Amy’s voice from anywhere, it’s the one she’s grown fond of hearing, despite not hearing much of.

It’s like some sort of suede, or silk.

Perhaps liquid gold to Hope’s taste.

It’s intrinsic value doesn’t matter though, it’s in the basic frame of the worst drug.

_She always wants to hear more of it._

Hope’s eyes snap up to find Amy’s turned frame, an inquisitive look surrounding her features as Hope clears her throat.

_“Yeah?”_

Amy bites her bottom lip, “I wanted to know if I-uh could possibly borrow a pen? Smith just said she was handing back our quizzes from last week.”

Hope’s eyes light up, and instantly she feels the need to tease Amy, but miraculously that part of her refrained. She doesn’t know why she feels somewhat excited about that, it’s just a pen, it’s not like she’s asking for her number or anything.

_Would Amy call her?_

**_‘Aren’t you usually good at being prepared?’_ **

Hope shrugs, picking up her green pen that was flat against her desk, and handing it over to the girl, “You can keep it if you need it.”

“N-No,” Amy shakes her head, clearly shocked, “That’s not-“

“Trust me,” Hope shrugs, feeling a rush of adrenaline course up her throat, allowing an overwhelming bout of confidence to slip from her lips, “It won’t be cheating on your wife Antsler.”

“O-Oh,” Amy nods, clearly embarrassed, “Molly and I aren’t really-”

“ _Dating_?” Hope cuts her off, earning a small nod.

“That.”

“I know,” Hope states.

“A-Anyway. Thanks Hope,” Amy murmurs holding the pen up to Hope’s eyes. “For the p-pen, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Hope nods, “Sure thing.”

“Now,” the teacher calls, her voice catches Amy’s attention and quickly causes her to turn back around in her seat. “Who can tell me what number eight’s verb is?”

Amy immediately raises her hand, and Hope smiles softly to herself.

_Maybe it’s okay after all._

_Amy didn’t know._

_Or at least she didn’t know it was her._

* * *

**_A._ **

“Okay,” Molly says, “I’m going to go dump my lunch.”

Amy looks up to find Molly throwing her fork against the plastic container before closing it, and standing up.

“Okay,” Amy nods, “Can you take mine too?”

“Sure thing,” Molly smiles, taking Amy’s tray and walking towards a trashcan.

Amy starts to rummage through her bag for a moment, searching for her phone before she hears someone say her name.

“Amy?”

Amy looks up to find Annabelle’s serious expression looking at her.

She wonders why Annabelle of all people would want to possibly talk to her. Amy didn’t have anything in common with her, or had anything against her. The rumors would all say how she was some kind of slut, someone who’d sleep with a lot of guys.

But in all honesty, Amy couldn’t really see it.

“W-What’s up Annabelle?” She says, intentionally nervous that Annabelle would possibly come to yell at her for something Molly did to upset her.

Everyone always called her Triple A, even Molly would, frankly.

But Amy would always correct her.

No one deserves to be called a name that was so physically degrading, or anything of that sort.

Amy believed in equality, and not judging people based on lifestyles.

Even if people judged her, she still thought it was the right thing to do.

If there was anything to take away from her parent’s religious background, it would to be showing kindness to everyone who hasn’t given you a reason not to. but unlike her parents, Amy wasn’t extremely religious.

Annabelle tugs something from the waistband of her pocketless shorts, and holds it out to Amy’

“Someone in my last class told me to give you this.”

Amy swallows, taking the item from Annabelle’s fingers, and upon further glance, it’s a folded sheet of paper.

Her name is on the top fold of the sheet, and Amy notices the neatly scrawled out letters as Annabelle walks away without another word.

Amy opens her mouth to speak, but by that time, Annabelle was out of earshot.

“What’s that?”

Molly takes a seat beside Amy, looking at the item stuck in Amy’s right hand as her own gaze fixes itself on it.

“I’m not sure,” Amy murmurs, “I think it’s a note.”

Molly’s brow creases, “Well, what are you waiting for, read it!”

Amy unfolds the sheet of paper, and her eyes scan the paper in silence.

“I don’t understand what this means,” Amy says after a beat, “It’s just a bunch of songs.”

Amy gestures the paper to Molly, who takes it and flips it over, easily making Amy gasp at the sight.

“Amy,” Molly states, “They’re lyrics.”

“I think the numbers correspond with each song.”

“But who would give you this?” Molly questions.

“Annabelle said that her friend in her last class told her to give it to me,” Amy states.

“Perhaps it’s Ryan,” Molly jumps, “Someone likes you Amy.”

“Well,” Amy frowns, “The last track is _‘Wish You Were Gay,’_ so if that’s any interpretation, I suppose that’s something Molls.”

“You know what you need to do now?” Molly raises a brow, flipping it back over.

“Listen to them?”

“No,” Molly shakes her head, “Well, yes. But you should write a response.”

“Like copy this?”

“Yes,” Molly nods, “But with your own songs.”

* * *

“Goddamnit,” Amy groans, opening her bag further to rummage through the bottom.

“Is somethin’ wrong dude?”

Amy looks up to find Ryan’s eyes, and she quickly blushes before squeaking out a quick response, “N-No! Why d-do you ask?”

“Oh,” Ryan shrugs casually, “I just wondered because you’re not yourself.”

“M-Myself?” Amy stutters.

“I mean yeah,” Ryan nods, “Your usually so calm and shit, but your freaking out about somethin’ right now.”

“Oh,” Amy flushes darker, looking back to her bag, “I-I just figured out that my bag has a hole in the bottom of it, and apparently all of my pens and pencils fell out.”

“Shit dude,” Ryan shakes her head, “That’s not good.”

“N-No,” Amy laughs nervously, “I mean. Perhaps it could be if you’re really trying to lose something.”

Ryan makes a concerned expression that’s heavily laced with confusion as she shrugs, “Well, I mean I hope you find whatever your trying to find Amy.”

Amy feels her insides turn to jelly as Ryan walks to the other side of the room, the bell tolling, making her sense of panic increase tenfold.

_She didn’t have anything._

_Smith said that she was handing back quizzes._

“Okay class,” the teacher states, clasping her hands together.

Amy takes her seat, noticing Hope’s nervous demeanor as she does so. She feels herself find a way to somehow get up the nerve to turn around in her seat, she mentally coaches herself into it, telling herself exactly what to say.

Only when she lets out a “ _Hey_ ,” she loses all of those previous thoughts.

Hope’s eyes are so striking that it almost makes Amy want to shrivel up in a little ball and die.

Well, perhaps not _die_.

Amy just never really realized that Hope had eyes that were so utterly enchanting.

_Enchanted? Wasn’t that one of the songs from the list?_

_By Taylor Swift right?_

_Didn’t Hope have some sort of Taylor Swift addiction back in middle school?_

Amy remembers it now, they had show-and-tell one day, and Hope brought her _Speak Now_ CD.

_Surely it wasn’t Hope._

Amy doesn’t think much more about it, carrying around Hope’s green pen and attending the rest of her classes.

She thinks more about what each of the songs mean, and during her Geometry class she asks to be excused to go read over the note again.

Amy sits in the stall for a good five minutes, racking her brain and pulling out her phone to make a playlist with each song from the list.

Whoever it was, they surely cared enough to make this special.

She ends up tucking Hope’s pen in her ear at one point, focusing on the green ink that lines the margins and just blatantly trying to place the handwriting.

Amy gives up eventually, folding the sheet back up and pushing it into her jean jacket and washing her hands, splashing cold water over her cheeks to keep the invasive flush down.

She doesn’t know why she’s blushing, maybe it’s because of the sudden attention.

Amy’s not used to being noticed, or perhaps being flattered like this.

She hears a stall door slam shut behind her, some girl clearing her throat loudly before Amy turns off the faucet and flicks her fingers at the drain, drying her hands off with a paper towel and walking briskly back to class.

* * *

**_H._ **

Hope holds the neck of her guitar in her right hand, fingers plucking swiftly with a yellow pick, and bobbing her head in time with the rhythm of the tune from her headphones. A rainbow guitar strap is slung against the back of her neck, and her left foot taps against the carpet. Her fingers move across the fret board with ease, harmonizing with the masculine voice coming through each speaker.

**_  
I've waited for a long time  
Yeah the sleight of my hand is now a quick-pull trigger  
I reason with my cigarette  
Then say, "Your hair's on fire, you must've lost your wits, yeah?"  
  
_ **

She sings along to the tune, beneath the soft glow of icicle lights strung across the crown molding of her room.

Hope thinks about Amy, not regarding the song, but in general.

She imagines her sitting cross legged on her floor in front of her, staring at her as she plays whatever song Amy wants.

Thinks about what it’d be like to watch her sway back in forth with her small awkward smile.

Hope thinks about it well after she puts the guitar back in its case and lays down in her bed.

Maybe it’d be okay if Amy knew it was her after all, Hope wasn’t sure. She was nervous, that certain,, but she wasn’t going to exactly tell anyone about that.

She’s sure Annabelle knows she’s nervous about it too.

* * *

“Yo!” Annabelle says, slamming the car door behind her frame. Hope looks over to the girl for a minute, her right hand gripping the steering wheel as her left is draped out of the open window. Her signature jacket lays in the back seat, allowing Hope’s arms to have exposure to the sunlight.

“Hey,” Hope nods, clearing her throat as Annabelle leans forward onto the floorboard of Hope’s Civic, searching through a small backpack that Annabelle sometimes carried around. Mostly for style, Hope’s sure that storing things in it would be extremely troubling.

The whole point of backpacks are for convenience.

“I’ve got something for you,” Annabelle murmurs, picking the bag up by an shoulder strap and unzipping a different pocket.

“Hand it over then.”

“I’ve got to find the fucking thing first.”

“Well hurry the fuck up then,” Hope deadpans, “I’ve got to be at jazz practice at five.”

Annabelle pulls folded sheet of notebook paper from the unzipped pocket and hands it over to Hope without another thought.

Hope’s eyes widen after a minute, her name is neatly scrawled out in the same green pen that she lent to Amy during their French class.

_She wonders if Amy knows._

“Amy told me to give that to the person who wrote the other note to her,” Annabelle says, zipping the bag back up and throwing it somewhere in the back.

“Did you read it?” Hope raises a brow, earning a sarcastic glare from Annabelle.

“No you dumbass,” she shakes her head, “What friend does that?”

_“You.”_

“Bull fucking shit,” Annabelle frowns, “I’d never get between you and Gaymy”

“Don’t fucking call her that,” Hope snaps.

“Why?”

“I’ll kick your ass if you say anything else about her,” Hope remarks.

“Oh, well. I’m shaking in my boots Hopesicle,” Annabelle mutters sarcastically.

“Shut up,” Hope growls unapologetically, pushing her right foot on the gas.

She peels out of the school parking lot and drops Annabelle off at her apartment complex over on the West side of town.

* * *

Hope stops at a gas station.

She parks beside a pump, and sits there for a minute, gripping the wheel until her knuckles turn white.

Being nervous was an understatement, she’s not sure how to exactly feel at this point.

Hope is all of the synonyms of fear combined, and even then, fear was an inadequate word to directly explain what she felt at this moment.

She takes a few deep breathes, gaining her strength by resting her forehead between her hands against the wheel, she grits her teeth firmly and brings her left hand down forcefully a few times, connecting the flesh of her palm against the harden plastic in a long drawn out fit.

_Get a grip, you like Amy._

And for some odd reason, Hope miraculously does, she takes a long breath and peers through the windshield, there’s several people pumping gas, no one pays any attention to her, and for some reason that’s oddly comforting.

She closes her eyes and lets her right hand seek out the neatly folded paper inside of the cupholder in the center console.

Her fingers trace the crease, and she leans back into the seat, coaching herself to open her eyes and slowly unfold the sheet with somewhat shaky hands.

_Amy wrote this._

_Her penmanship is immaculate._

**Jesus Christ, Hope is so in love.**

Hope isn’t sure if she should be astonished or baffled, because it’s the same exact format as her note, only with different songs and five words

**Thursday after 3 rd, locker 275B.**

_Okay, so what was Hope supposed to do with this information?_

Amy wanted to meet her? Yeah, fat chance that it would turn out well.

They aren’t exactly on the ‘best friend’ term, nonetheless on any terms,

But there is one thing that caches her eye, it’s on the lyrical side, there’s something, written in green ink, that’s scrawled out heavily with graphite.

Hope searches around her glove compartment for a pencil, and upon excessive erasing, it’s a phrase.

Hope almost shits herself.

_There’s nothing more dangerously alluring than Hope._

**Yeah, perhaps Amy knew after all.**

_But maybe that’s okay._

* * *

**_A._ **

****

“So tell me exactly what Triple A told you,” Molly says.

They just finished working on their AP Calculus homework for the night, and took a small break due to some snacks that Charmaine decided to bring up to them. Molly lays on the bottom bunk of Amy’s bunk beds, chewing on some vegan kosher snack.

“I told you already,” Amy states, spinning around in her desk chair, Hope’s pen is tucked firmly in her ear as she presses a pair of reading glasses further up the bridge of her nose.

“But that just doesn’t make sense Ames,” Molly sits up, stuffing the rest of the food into her mouth and swallowing before gesturing her hands, “Triple A doesn’t have many friends.”

“ _Annabelle_ , Molly. Call her by her name,” Amy says, “You wouldn’t like it if anyone said that to you, would you?”

“I think she actually likes to be called that though,” Molly ponders, “But your right.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean,” Molly starts, “How the fuck are you so much smarter than me?”

“Hey!” Amy states, pulling the glasses from her face and closing each expanded arm before tucking them away in a small case, “Don’t swear, my parents might hear that.”

“They love me,” Molly frowns, taking a huge breath before grinning at Amy, “Fuck.”

“ _Molly_!”

“Relax,” Molly chastises, “But let’s really figure this out though.”

“Annabelle doesn’t have any friends,” Amy says, “But obviously she hangs out with someone.”

“What if it’s some dude?”

“It isn’t,” Amy shakes her head, “I can just tell, the handwriting is too neat to be a guy.”

“Let’s look at it again,” Molly holds out her hand, fingers making a come-hither motion.

Amy tosses the note in Molly’s direction, who catches it half-hazardly and begins unfolding it.

“I’m just going to go downstairs and see if my mother needs anything,” Amy begins to get up and grabs the plate that rests against the top bunk’s mattress.

“Wait,” Molly says, glancing up towards Amy’s face, “What about that pen?”

“Pen?” Amy questions, reaching up to feel the hard plastic nestled behind her ear.

“Yeah,” Molly nods.

“Hope lent it to me,” Amy furrows a brow, “Why?”

“I think I just figured it out,” Molly jumps up, “Hope likes you.”

“What?” Amy shouts in shock.

“Triple A only is ever seen hanging around one person Amy,” Molly says, “And that’s Hope.”

“But Hope doesn’t hang out with anyone Molly, she’s like an outcast.”

“The ink matches from that pen to the one on the note Amy.”

“But that’s insane,” Amy states, “There’s no fucking way.”

“Look who’s swearing now,” Molly mocks with an amused laugh.

Amy paces a few steps before swinging around to look back to Molly’s eyes, “She can’t – We – There’s no way she – I – would ever.”

“She likes you Amy,” Molly repeats.

“You don’t even know that Molly,” Amy states firmly, “It _could_ be Ryan.”

“But it isn’t Amy,” Molly shakes her head, “It’s Hope, and she obviously cares.”

“No,” Amy shakes her head in disbelief, “ _No_ Molly.”

“Yes.”

“She’s always a bitch,” Amy reminisces, “Why would she like _me_ of all people?”

“Because,” Molly waves a hand in the air, “She never had a boyfriend apart from Luke Harrison in like 8th grade.”

“She had a boyfriend?” Amy raises a brow, running a frustrated hand through her hair.

“According to some random gossip I heard from a drainpipe that was Gigi’s Twitter feed.”

“No,” Amy shakes her head, “We can’t – Molly.”

“Amy,” Molly laughs softly, getting up to place a hand on the girl’s shoulder, “I don’t know much about girls and whatnot, but it’s obvious that your scared of this.”

“I just don’t know what I should do.”

“Talk to her?” Molly raises a brow.

“But-“

Molly cuts her off, “Or just continue to focus on Ryan, it’s all up to you.”

“I need to respond to this,” Amy furrows a brow, glancing at the note that had fell onto the carpet of her bedroom.

“I agree,” Molly nods, “Now let’s listen to those songs.”

* * *

Amy lays in bed that night.

She doesn’t sleep, for some reason she can’t seem to fall into that realm.

Instead she finds herself tossing and turning, trying to find comfort in the thoughts that perhaps Molly was right about that sort of thing.

The question of _‘why?’_ has been on her mind though, because in reality she wonders what intentions Hope had towards her, she never showed any interest in Amy in the first place.

They hardly ever spoke, apart from an argument, or an insult involving Molly.

So Amy’s concerned on Hope’s intentions, that’s normal right?

She feels so conflicted at the same time, she’s been observing Ryan and wanting to pursue her for months – years perhaps. Then there was Hope, randomly giving her a list of songs that had lyrics.

It was dangerous to say the least. It was so unpredictable, uncoordinated, so unlike anything of Hope’s normal actions.

Hope was mysterious.

The exact oxymoron to Amy’s existence.

Perhaps Hope had a softer side that she never led on to?

Amy wasn’t sure, she seemed to have those walls built pretty thickly considering the insults she threw at practically anybody who dared to cross her path.

She’s witnessed Hope smoking outside in her car too many times to count, in a bathroom stall on the west end of the building, and saw her play at jazz recitals that the school band put on for the entire school once in a while.

She was completely a mystery.

But maybe there was a part of Amy that wanted to find out what this note really entailed with each pen stroke,

Amy finds herself crawling down from the top bunk and finding a piece of paper from a notebook in her bag before she scrawls out numbers in each of the margins with Hope’s green pen. It’s well after 1:30 once she finishes, she decides to try to write something, and gets up and paces around her room.

Reciting the phrase back through her mind, before dropping back into the swivel chair to grab a pencil from the cup and quickly mark over it. Instead she writes something else, a possible question, without any marks or quotations, just a simple few words.

Like a wishful thought, that whoever was behind this note would confront her on this subject so it would stop eating at her.

Maybe she could even have an actual relationship with a girl.

_Amy wasn’t sure._

She doesn’t really want to think about having a relationship with Hope, she still somehow struggles to picture her without a joint in her hand, and the exact depiction of her somehow fills Amy with the upmost dread.

But why did Amy still find comfort in those eyes?

It was like there was something that spoke to her in those unspoken facial expressions, but perhaps she was reading into it more than she should.

She tended to do that more often than that.

Amy crawls back into bed afterward, and somehow finds herself dreaming about what it’d be like if she knew Hope’s intentions.

* * *

Molly takes her seat next to Amy at their usual yellow picnic table, opening up the plastic casing of her lunch and digging a plastic fork through the saturated and shriveled lettuce and spinach leaves, catching Amy’s gaze transfixed on Annabelle’s table.

“Do you want me to give it to her?”

“What?” Amy snaps from her sudden trance, switching her gaze to Molly’s frame, and jumping slightly in shock.

“The note?” Molly raises a brow, lips pursed as she stared at Amy.

“O-Oh,” Amy sputters, “N-No Moll, I can like totally do that myself.”

Molly moves her face in slightly, narrowing her eyes in annoyance, “Really now?”

“Yeah,” Amy nods confidently, “I can totally do that.”

“Are you sure?”

“What fucking possesses you to think I can’t give some stupid note to someone?” Amy remarks, bowing her head with a nod, and looking over to Molly’s eyes with a frustrated glance.

“Are you going to then?” Molly presses, and it earns a scowl.

“Not now,” Amy clarifies, “It’s not the right moment.”

“Seriously?” Molly reasons, “If you don’t do it now, then you’ll never do it.”

“I will.”

“Prove it then,” Molly frowns, “Or I’ll do it for you.”

“Fuck,” Amy murmurs under her breath, bracing a hand on the edge of the table and swinging her legs from the bench to stand, “Fucking fine Molly. Happy?”

“Go do it,” Molly ushers with a hand, “I believe in you Ames.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Amy mutters, carefully walking towards Annabelle’s table while shoving a hand in the side pocket of her jean jacket to paw at the creased edges of the note.

Panic seemed to flare up in her mind as Hope looks up, brows knit together in what Amy thinks is annoyance as she turns away from Amy’s eyes.

Annabelle is sitting next to her, talking to Theo and Tanner about something Amy can’t hear over the sound of Nick Howland screaming something at Ryan.

It makes her stop for a second, pausing near an orange concrete pole that spanned the permeator of the seating area. Amy peers around the side of it and watches silently.

Nick is in front of Ryan, waving his hands, and gesturing to the skateboard in her right hand.

Amy glances back to Molly’s direction before biting the inside of her cheek. She feels her hand clam up from inside of her pocket, and rubs the other on the denim of her jacket before clenching it into a tight fist and taking a deep breath.

She gets about three steps before she’s shoved backwards accidentally by Tanner.

_“Sorry dude!”_

Amy mentally curses to herself as she storms a few more steps further.

She looks back to where Hope was, only to find her missing.

Annabelle is tugging a plastic fork through her salad as Amy trudges hesitantly closer. She can feel the anxiety claw further through her veins.

Hope’s bag is gone, and Amy doesn’t know if she’ll reappear in a mere seconds, or not, but Amy looks over her shoulder quickly, then towards the courtyard entrance before her knee hits the edge of bench belonging to the picnic table.

Annabelle’s eyes look up instantaneously, like if she had been watching Amy for the past few minutes, though Amy finds that she doesn’t look annoyed with her presence, and Amy takes it as a sign that perhaps she shouldn’t be so anxious.

What Amy does, isn’t exactly as smooth as she would like for it to be, she opens and closes her mouth several times, attempting to push the words past her lips, as she struggles to tug the note from her pocket, the pads of her fingers dampen the paper slightly as it frees itself to prying eyes.

“I-I,” Amy swallows, holding the paper out to Annabelle’s eyes.

She doesn’t say anything, staring at Amy’s extended hand as it stays between them, her fork stays firmly grasped and she chews the remaining mouthful of her lunch before shifting her gaze to Amy’s panicked eyes.

“Is this for me?” Annabelle clears her throat, and points her fork at the note. It makes Amy nod furiously at the comment.

“Y-Yeah,” Amy feels her cheeks flush as she stumbles across each word, “I-I wanted you to-uh give this to the person who gave me the other one.”

Annabelle gives a soft chuckle and smiles, “I’ll give this to her then.”

“Her?” Amy squeaks softly, “You m-mean i-it isn’t-“

“No Amy,” Annabelle laughs, cutting the girl off with a wave of her hand, “I wouldn’t do something like that to you.”

“O-Oh,” Amy nods quickly, feeling something tug low in her gut before she feels the words unexplainably slip from her lips, “I think I-I know who it is.”

Annabelle’s expression changes to one of interest, lips pursing and brows raising in suspicion, “Really?”

Amy bites the inside of her cheek and feels herself blush a deeper shade of red, “It’s Hope isn’t it?”

Annabelle just laughs softly, shaking her head, “No, no.”

“It i-isn’t?” Amy questions.

“I can’t tell you who it is Amy,” Annabelle acknowledges, “That’s for her to tell you.”

“But H-Hope,” Amy reasons, “She’s your only friend, isn’t she?”

“Again,” Annabelle’s lips tug upward in an amused smile, “I can’t tell you.”

“W-Well,” Amy deflates, “I appreciate your help then Annabelle.”

“Yeah,” Annabelle waves, “No problem.”

Amy sighs softly, turning away and slowly walking back to Molly’s table, finding Molly’s supportive comments and gestures as she takes her seat, and Amy would be so attuned to feeling proud of herself at the hands of her own personal struggle, if it wasn’t for the fact that a part of her. – one that she wasn’t even sure that existed, – was secretly hoping that it was Hope.

Maybe it was something dumb, Amy wasn’t sure.

Amy didn’t even really _like_ Hope anyway.

_Did she?_

For the past seventeen years of her life Hope hadn’t shown any interest into liking her, so what changes now? Why did all of a sudden Amy feel deflated that it wasn’t her.

_Why did Amy want it to be her?_

_Did she want that? What about Ryan?_

* * *

**_H._ **

****

“You _are_ talking to her today Hope.”

Hope doesn’t think to crane her neck to the passenger seat as the seatbelt clicks into place around Annabelle’s frame.

She honestly doesn’t want to fight about this.

**She likes Amy, _sure_. **

But she can’t actually _be_ with Amy, like that was totally wrong on so many levels and Hope wasn’t about to get her shit kicked by Molly.

Though if it came down to it, Hope’s sure Molly would probably be on the floor before anyone could say ‘ _go_.’ She wasn’t talking herself up or anything, it was just a common fact that Hope didn’t exactly back down.

Maybe Amy wasn’t an exception to that statement.

Hope spent the majority of their upbringing giving her grief because of the reason behind the fear and admitting aloud what she truly felt, and allowing herself to understand the feelings that surrounded her conscience every time Amy’s name came up in passing conversations.

It was Hope who started the “ _Wife_ ” nicknames, she wasn’t proud of it, but she enjoyed the rise out of Amy.

Maybe that’s what this was all about. Getting reactions from people who honorably stay silent?

Amy rarely speaks out of turn, rarely speaks on her own. And Hope hates that part.

She hates that Amy doesn’t allow herself to have a say in most things, allows herself to be out in the open.

Hope envied the part where Amy knew who she was though, understood that she was a lesbian, and completely embraced it with open arms when she figured it out in the winter of their sophomore year. While Hope was still trying to understand why she felt something for Amy that wasn’t like the other guys.

_Everything changed when she started dreaming about Amy. **Vividly sexually dreaming.**_

Perhaps that was her tipping point, where Hope finally understood that she wasn’t normal either.

But normal was overrated, so she wasn’t too concerned about it.

She was concerned about being seen as a hypocrite.

Sure, Hope supported that community, but it was just hard for her to finally realize and understand that maybe she was a part of it too, and maybe that was hard.

In certain ways she fell into a state of denial with herself, in every attempt she shunned those feelings to the side and tried to fit into the image provided by the social cast system.

The image, however, chose to fade and eventually after trying to hide behind it, Hope truly saw her face beneath every mirror’s surface.

It sucked, that was plain and simple. She didn’t have experience on this, and she knew that no one was supposed to, but it still frightened her to know that perhaps she could be in the same position as Amy.

But maybe that position seemed comforting, to know she wasn’t alone.

It was a whole ordeal explaining to herself that it was okay, she spent nights writing songs, spent nights bolting awake in a panting messes, trying to process the dreams.

And it was all because she was scared to truly understand.

Now was different, Annabelle knew her secret, not because she told her. Hope would never tell her anything, it was the constant power struggle of picking verbal fights with Amy in person and seemingly defending her in conversations between the both of them.

She just knew, and Hope sort of did too.

“No,” Hope shakes her head, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

They pull up to the Starbucks near the school and Annabelle hands Hope her debit card as they order her extremely caffeinated coffee.

Even still, Hope couldn’t understand why people found those things to be attractive substitutes within fashion trends and general wealth statements.

They tasted like shit, and Annabelle always said those exact words every time she took the first drink from that green straw, and every time Hope would shake her head and scoff softly.

_Old habits die hard._

“Hope,” Annabelle says as they pull into a parking space within the school lot, “You need to talk to her, stop running away from this.”

“I’m not running,” Hope dismisses, “You know _how_ it is.”

“Who the fuck cares if your gay?” Annabelle surmises after a moment, “Your allowed to like Amy. I mean, _fuck_. Amy would be lucky, you know?”

“Shut up,” Hope murmurs, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Annabelle sighs softly, the ice bumping against the plastic edges of the cup as she stirs the straw around the cold caramel liquid, “You know she likes you.”

“No she doesn’t Trip.”

“Yeah,” Annabelle counters with a nod, “She gave you a response Hope, remember?”

Hope runs a static hand through her hair and leans back in the driver’s seat after killing the ignition with a long drawn out breath, “ _Fuck_.”

“You need to go after that Hope,” Annabelle continues flatly, “You need to stop telling yourself you can’t.”

“But I can,” Hope says, “I know I can’t be with Amy, that’s like, the total reason why that would be wrong.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Hope waves a hand in the air to accentuate her previous statement, “I’ve been a total ass to her, and now? What would some fucking note change?”

“Well,” Annabelle purses her lips, “You need to try, people surprise you.”

“But I won’t,” Hope states, looking over to the passenger seat, “People don’t change.”

“Fucking hell,” Annabelle scoffs, “Just talk to her today, okay?”

* * *

“Alright class,” A man crosses into the room after the late bell rings, directing students to take their seats for their English class, “Your teacher absent today, so I’ll be in charge of your class.”

The man looks mid-forties, with a greying beard and a clean button down shirt. There’s a red clip-on bowtie around the collar, and Hope immediately classifies him as a tool. There’s a moment where Molly’s hand immediately shoots up and she’s already opened her mouth to say something clearly up-tight and obnoxiously prissy.

_“Miss Fine usually has one of us take the attendance Mr. Otis.”_

The man’s brows scrunch together, and he shrugs lightly, “Well, alright then.” Molly clambers up to the front of the room before he can say another word.

“I can take care of it sir,” Amy, Hope watches her from the corner of her eye as Molly looks around the room quickly, gaze landing on her, “Hope?”

Hope’s gaze immediately bounces itself onto Molly’s frame, clearly annoyed by the interruption, the clipboard cradled in Molly’s right arm as she marks up the sheet with her left, “ _What_?”

“Thank you,” Molly replies harshly, clearly uninterested in continuing to converse with Hope, she calls out some other kid’s names before finishing and offering to take the attendance sheet to the office without hesitation.

Mr. Otis, rejects, and clears his throat before nodding towards the class, “I would like all of you guys to pull out your textbooks and read pages 279 to 294 before I return, I trust that you all are high schoolers and considering your reputations, this should be no issue.”

The classroom door closes behind the man and immediately Annabelle taps Hope’s shoulder, leaning forward to mumble a soft “Talk to her.”

And before Hope realizes it, she’s clearing her throat and briskly uttering the words, “Hey Amy.”

Amy, cranes her neck around with a puzzled glance, confused as Hope bites the inside of her cheek before looking to Molly occupied gaze, then switching back to Amy’s hazel irises, “Yeah?”

“You know Ryan doesn’t like you, right?”

Hope says the words before she realizes it, and Annabelle’s cough draws her conclusion as Amy doesn’t say anything else but a blank “Okay.”

Hope’s seemingly mystified, letting the panic and impulsion consume her senses as the students around her shuffle through their bags for the Shakespearian textbook and pulling it open to the addressed pages. Of course Amy’s is color coded with sticky tabs hanging from the edge of the pages, and Hope almost finds it comedical if it wasn’t already enduring.

But it’s things like those, little details regarding Hope’s word choices that make Hope unable to truly let herself be with Amy.

_She couldn’t be nice._

She relies too heavily on impulsion and her abrasive demeanor to be compatible for Amy, she loses all trains of thought and finds herself taking steps backward with every chance. Maybe Hope hates that, but it was the truth, and that was frankly how everyone else saw it.

_Or at least, how Hope thought everyone saw it._

Kids begin to murmur among themselves and Hope feels Annabelle tap her on her shoulder a few seconds later. Hope ignores her, attempting to sink further into her chair, the book propped up against the edge of her desk in her lap, as her eyes scanned the page.

Hope wasn’t concentrating on any of the words, the only thing she found herself focusing on was the sound of Tanner’s voice on her left and George and Alan somewhere across the room, potentially acting out one of the plays in the back few pages, but she looks up to Molly’s frenzied movements as she stands up and waves her arms in the air.

“Guys,” she hollers over the sound of the humdrum, “Please stop talking, some of us are trying to educate ourselves.”

Hope feels the anger flare up in her gut regarding Amy, she wanted her to notice.

_Wanted a reaction._

“Hey Molly,” Hope shouts, earning an inquisitive glance in her direction, “You’d shut the fuck up if you knew what was good for you.”

Amy’s face whips around to Hope’s shit-eating expression, and she can see the visible anger as it crosses her face, for a moment Hope feels proud. There was progress, Amy was noticing her.

“What the hell are you doing?” Annabelle whispers, and Hope ignores it, standing up and shuffling to the isle between the desks, she hears Nick and some other guys jeer In response, and for some reason Hope finds it more satisfying to watch Amy confidently stand up and jab a finger towards her. There’s not an ounce of hesitation.

_When you mess with Molly, you get Amy._

_And Hope wanted Amy, no hesitation, no skittish demeanor._

_Just Amy in her rawest form._

Her brows are furrowed together, and Hope can smell the lavender and jasmine shampoo from where she stands.

Amy’s seeing red, and Hope finds it so relieving.

“It’s cruel people like you who drag nice people down for their own personal gain.”

“So?” Hope laughs, Amy’s voice speaks of venom, but Hope shrugs it off casually, slinging the phrases and twisting the words back into Amy’s ears, “It’s uptight people like you who ruin the fucking world anyway.”

“For starters,” Molly cuts in, but she’s easily stopped by a steady hand of Amy’s doing before she’s confidently storming up in front of Hope.

And Hope almost wants to drop to her knees, despite feeling on cloud nine, she feels so powerless in Amy’s uninhibited gaze.

Hope watches as Amy jabs a deft finger against her own clothed sternum, clearly uttering the words without hesitation, and it makes Hope’s pride swell in her gut.

_“Fuck you Hope.”_

“Oh really?” Hope complies with a raised brow, “If you wanted to so badly Amy, you didn’t have to ask since we all know how you feel about girls.”

“Hope,” Annabelle cuts in, and it makes Hope stop to look around the classroom to find all sets of eyes on them, before setting her gaze on Amy’s with an unimpressed frown.

Hope doesn’t say another word, grabbing her bag she storms out of the room despite class being in session, she’s sure Molly will snitch on her, but Hope honestly doesn’t care at this point, she needs to smoke.

_“Hope.”_

Hope whips her head around within the hallway, only to catch sight of Amy clambering up to her without hesitation, there’s a pause and Hope doesn’t stop walking. She hears her name called again, as she unlocks her locker and tugs a Ziplock baggie into her messenger bag before Amy’s caught up beside her.

She’s out of breath, and Hope doesn’t feel like talking, Amy just catches her breath like she’s expecting her to say something.

“You’re not going to say anything?” Amy comments flatly in annoyance, as Hope slams the door to her locker and turns to walk away without another thought.

“ _No_.”

Adjusting the strap of her messenger bag around her neck as she briskly walks further down the hallway towards the exit leading into the student parking lot, Hope keeps her head held high, feeling Amy’s eyes as they bore holes into her back.

“So you’re just going to lead me on then?” Amy hollers seconds later, and it makes Hope’s steps falter for a minute, she knows Amy’s watching her. Hope can’t help how her body momentarily pauses, how her breath stills momentarily in a panic.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hope lies, she knows she’s lying, and knows that she can’t stop herself from not moving her feet further toward the exit.

“The note,” Amy says, “That was _you_.”

Hope turns on her heel smartly, they’re feet apart, but Hope can still see every freckle, every indentation of her face as she stands with her feet planted beside her locker.

“I don’t have to answer to you.”

“You don’t answer to anyone, do you?” Amy frowns, oddly confident as she pushes herself off the lockers and paces further to Hope’s frame.

“Everyone is just like each other,” Hope replies, “You and Molly especially. And if you knew anything about me you’d know that I fucking despise meek people.”

“You like me,” Amy states, pausing in front of Hope’s frame.

_“No I don’t.”_

“Look me in the fucking eyes then,” Amy snaps, making Hope grit her teeth.

The last inch of Hope’s perseverance snaps, her hand immediately snakes out and latches around Amy’s wrist, forcing her to trail behind her, choosing to storm down an empty adjacent hallway. Amy stays silent, and Hope feels her hand clam up from where Amy’s skin is touching her own.

_It feels like fire._

Hope pauses in front of an empty janitors closet, yanking the door open and pulling Amy in behind her.

Letting the darkness envelope the both of them, Amy starts to say something, but Hope doesn’t focus on anything, she can’t with her pulse ringing within her eardrums.

She can’t feel anything other than some type of anger, not anger of Amy, but the frustration of wanting to get the words out.

_Wanting Amy to like her instead of Ryan._

The air feels thicker with the more she inhales it into her lungs, but it’s not even a second later she’s capturing Amy’s lips hastily. And all at once she quickly pulls back, Amy’s back is flush against the door, and Hope can barely see anything.

_All she feels is fire._

She doesn’t say anything else, and the sound of Amy’s breathing registers beneath every other sense within Hope’s nerves. Hope doesn’t say anything either, because Amy’s suddenly pushing herself off of the door to kiss Hope again.

It tastes of cherry flavored Chapstick and Hope has to fight with herself before she’s losing herself in the feeling of Amy’s lips pressed to hers.

Hope stops it, pulling away and it comes out a deep rasp within the quiet closet.

“No Amy,” Hope’s voice pierces the sound of their breathing, _“Fuck you.”_

And then she’s tugging the door open swiftly as Amy stays planted against the middle of the closet, and Hope doesn’t look back, she gets high in her car to an old Bob Seger album, and ignores any other words from Annabelle.

_There’s one thing Hope classifies Amy Anstler as, and that’s confusing._

_Because Hope doesn’t know who she is whenever she enters the goddamn room anymore._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> be kind... tell me what you think... tried to get it as best as i could to something the movie would look like... still probably breaks so many character laws lmao.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope's list to Amy.
> 
> 1.) No Idea – All Time Low  
> 2.) Black Butterflies & Déjà vu – The Maine  
> 3.) Lonely Eyes – Lauv  
> 4.) Charlie – Mallrat  
> 5.) She Will Be Loved – Maroon 5  
> 6.) Peer Pressure – James Bay feat Julia Michaels  
> 7.) Fallin’ For You – Colbie Caillat  
> 8.) Shut Up – Greyson Chance  
> 9.) Hallucinations – PVRIS  
> 10.) Enchanted – Taylor Swift  
> 11.) Absolute – The Fray  
> 12.) Happily – One Direction  
> 13.) She Looks So Perfect – 5 Seconds of Summer  
> 14.) Who Knows – Avril Lavigne  
> 15.) When You Know – Neck Deep  
> 16.) I’ll Always Be Around – Waterparks  
> 17.) Tear in My Heart – Twenty One Pilots  
> 18.) Higher – With Confidence  
> 19.) Your Love is My Drug – Ke$ha  
> 20.) Chasing Cars – Snow Patrol  
> 21.) Stop & Stare – OneRepublic  
> 22.) Only Exception – Paramore  
> 23.) Quarter Past Midnight – Bastille  
> 24.) It’s Not Living (If It’s Not With You) – The 1975  
> 25.) Girls/Girls/Boys – Panic! At the Disco  
> 26.) Yellow – Coldplay  
> 27.) Nirvana – Sam Smith  
> 28.) Runaway – Against the Current  
> 29.) Some Nights – Fun  
> 30.) The Edge of Glory – Lady Gaga  
> 31.) Somebody – Bonnie McKee  
> 32.) Legendary – The Summer Set  
> 33.) Wish You Were Gay – Billie Eilish
> 
> ...
> 
> Hope's lyrics to Amy.
> 
> 1.) “She has No Idea that I’m even here”  
> 2.) “I lose my voice when I look at you”  
> 3.) “There's things in myself that I see in you”  
> 4.) “I hope you warm up to me”  
> 5.) “I don't mind spendin' everyday”  
> 6.) “You're dancing around on my mind every second”  
> 7.) “Maybe I should keep this to myself”  
> 8.) “I cannot hold my tongue, you give me much to say”  
> 9.) “I paint you in the corners of my mind”  
> 10.) “The lingering question kept me up, two a.m., who do you love?”  
> 11.) “Tell me everything 'cause I want to hear”  
> 12.) “I don’t care what people say…”  
> 13.) “She looks so perfect standing there…”  
> 14.) “I think I like to get to know you a little bit more”  
> 15.) “I'll go where you go”  
> 16.) “'’Cause I'm dying to be your everything.”  
> 17.) “But my taste in music is your face”  
> 18.) “I could be your own desire”  
> 19.) “I'm seeing it in my dreams”  
> 20.) “Here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see”  
> 21.) “Every glance is killing me”  
> 22.) “You are the only exception…”  
> 23.) “It's a quarter past midnight”  
> 24\. ) “And all I do is sit and think about you”  
> 25.) “But girls love girls and boys”  
> 26.) “You know I love you so.”  
> 27.) “Girl, you take me to Nirvana”  
> 28.) “Don’t act like loving me is such a bad thing.”  
> 29.) “Why don't we break the rules already?”  
> 30.) “Out on the edge of glory and I'm hangin' on a moment with you”  
> 31.) “Because there is somebody waitin' for me”  
> 32.) “Yeah, we all wanna be legendary to somebody”  
> 33.) “But all you do is look the other way…”
> 
> (the reason it ends badly is to build tension to the party.)
> 
> (be kind... please comment and tell me what you think.)


End file.
